


kairos

by KnifingGale



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: 1970s, 1970s Berlin, Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bell-centric, Bell/Multi - Freeform, Cold War, Courting Rituals, Cryptanalyst!Bell, Cryptography, Drug Use, Espionage, F/M, Female Bell (Call of Duty), Klutz!Bell, Multi, No Smut, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oblivious!Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman, Omega!Bell, Pre-Canon, Questionably unsafe use of needles, West Berliner!Bell, by that I mean extensive use of suppressants, for now, no wereweolves and were-stuff in this abo AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifingGale/pseuds/KnifingGale
Summary: In a world where dynamics meant everything, Bell was the one outlier: a scentless omega. All her life, she viewed that as something negative, a defect in her body. But Vadim Rudnik thought differently.
Relationships: Bell (Call of Duty)/Perseus (Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War), Bell/Multi, Bell/Vadim Rudnik (Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War), Bell/Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin, Dimitri Belikov/Bell (Call of Duty)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	kairos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: internalized negative feelings about one's own genetic condition and body, attempted sexual assault, dubiously unsafe use of needles, and mention of torture.

You remembered the day you presented. 

You had scanned over the English plaintext excerpts the professor assigned your class to decrypt as part of homework over the holidays. Character frequency charts laid scattered across your desk, illuminated by the bright lamp. You absent-mindedly brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, heat flaring through your neck. 

Should you go downstairs and tell your family to turn the thermostat down…?

You shook your head. You forgot that they had gone to dinner without you with an associate of your father. After all, you had to get done with decrypting the plaintext excerpts first. 

The more you looked at the plaintext, the less sense it made. English characters and symbols slowly jumped together into an incomprehensible mess. The annotations shoved between the margins should have helped you reference back to the character frequency charts faster, but instead added to your developing migraine.

 _'ETAOIN SHRDLU’_ you reminded yourself. The 12 most frequent characters in the English language. Not that it helped speed up the process. The small print of the text had blurred in front of you. Maybe you should blink… 

Sighing, you pushed yourself away from the desk to splash cold water on your burning face and neck. But first, you had to turn the thermostat down. It may be a cold winter in Berlin but that’s no reason for your family to make the house a sauna-

Your legs buckled beneath you as you stood up. You immediately leaned against the desk with one arm steadying yourself.

 _I need water_ , you thought to yourself, your mouth parched and hot. 

Shakily, you got to your feet and steadied yourself with one arm against the wall as you walked towards the stairs. The peach painting on the wall next to the stairs was nothing but a blur of soft pastel colors as you gripped the railing and brought your foot down on the step. 

And when you brought your other foot down, you were falling—

The floor knocked your break out. When you opened your eyes, stars and colors swam about, blocking the white ceiling from your vision. 

Suddenly, your abdomen tightened, white-hot pricks of pain flared in your middle and back. And then came the heat searing through your abdomen, like a hot knife stabbing you over and over again. 

But it didn’t stop there. 

The heat clawed its way up your body until your neck burned and your eyes teared up from the liquid fire inside you. A feverish haze settled over your mind. You could barely think beyond the panic and fear filling your chest. You could barely breathe from it all. 

There were so many things leaving your lips. Pleas for help, for your family, for mercy—

But they all stopped when you came to a numb realization amidst all the pain and heat. 

“...I’m dying.” 

_It must be death_ , you thought numbly to yourself. The fall must have broken something inside of you. What else could this agony be?

Suddenly, you heard the click of the door opening. Alarmed screams and shouts filled your ears. 

Footsteps on the cold hardwood floor came closer and closer.

Yet you could only struggle to just breathe. 

* * *

“Am I dying, _Herr Doktor_?” you slurred out hazily, your vision spinning from the morphine injected into you. The clinic was kind enough to give you that mercy. 

“No, _Fräulein_ ,” the doctor stood over you, shaking his head, a rather stressed look in his eyes. You tilted your head slightly despite the discomfort in your neck from your tumble down the stairs. 

If you weren’t dying, what could this be-

“You’re an omega.” 

Oh. 

You blinked. You always thought you would turn out to be a beta. You had hyposmia and thus couldn’t register pheromones and scents relating to the other dynamics, after all. 

“You’ve just presented your dynamic as an omega. Heats are not uncommon to appear alongside presenting—”

 _Heats_ , you thought numbly. Your hands rested gently on your aching abdomen as you gripped the sheets tightly. 

That...that hellish experience was a _heat_?

And you were going to have to experience that torment again and again-

—for the rest of your life. 

You shivered. 

You finally brought yourself to look up at the doctor, “That was a heat?” you said hoarsely. 

He shook his head, “Not quite. It was what we’ve labelled in the medical community as a “flash-heat”. It is very rare and usually triggered by external factors like toxins that interact with the pituitary gland. But you have the Andromeda Syndrome, a unique chronic hormonal disorder where your body hasn't been producing the right hormonal balance, making you scentless and incapable of having normal heats and have flash-heats every 3-4 weeks.”

“Is there any cure?” You said weakly, even though you could already tell from the pitying look in the doctor’s eyes. Every three to four weeks...you couldn’t live with this condition happening so often. You had classes at the university, an internship at the ZfCh, a scholarship-

“No, not much research has been done into this because of its rarity. In medical history, only two other patients were diagnosed with this condition. Although, there is an additional case dated back to the Ancient Greek times recently. Both cases...ended tragically due to the worsening of quality of life with the condition and its mental effects from the hormonal imbalance,” the doctor explained patiently.

“But medicine has come a long way since Ancient Greece, _Fräulein_ ,” the doctor said, this time with a lighter tone to his voice. You couldn’t help but smile slightly. Perhaps the morphine was getting to your head as well, “Routine use of suppressants can prevent the symptom of flash-heats from occurring.” 

You felt the weight crushing your chest lift suddenly. So there was hope, after all…

You didn’t have to live with this. 

“Suppressants may not always keep your condition from flaring up again,” the doctor warned, seeing your suddenly relieved and hopeful look, “You’ll have to notice the symptoms early to get pain relievers for it.” 

You merely nodded. This hellish nightmare was finally over...

And just like that, your life was back to normal again. 

* * *

For years, the suppressants worked. 

Even though you knew the financial strain paying for the expensive suppressants took on you and your family, they worked nonetheless. The heavy weight of glares and tired stares on your shoulders weighed as a consistent reminder.

You were a burden.

A _defective_ scentless omega. 

You had to make up for that. 

And so you did. 

You had only one year remaining of your undergraduate study in mathematics with a specialization in cryptography and cryptanalysis, your internship at the ZfCh went well, and the undergraduate research study into linear cryptanalysis was gaining attention from several high-ranking cipher officers you met at the ZfCh...

“Your future is looking bright,” your father commented once over dinner with that rare approving look. You had merely nodded with a feeling of satisfaction in yourself. For everything that went wrong within you, at least you managed to do right by what you could control. 

Then one day on a cool fall evening, the suppressants stopped working. An all too familiar searing heat stabbed through your abdomen before hungrily consuming your being in that tormenting liquid fire. 

And everything went to hell. 

Suddenly, your future wasn’t looking so bright. 

Your grades plummeted. Every month was a cycle of dread and pain. The flash-heats struck again and again, each time catching you off guard, no time to take the pain relievers in the window of effectiveness. The normal dosage for suppressants wasn’t working. You needed more—

When you dragged yourself over to the clinic one day, you found the same doctor gazing down at you with that same pitying look from all those years ago. 

“You’ve hit the legal limit for suppressants. I can’t give you any more.” 

Pleas spilled from your lips as you asked again and again for suppressants, just this once-

‘No, no, no, you can’t leave me like this. I can’t live like this. I will die—’

Yet all those pleas of yours fell on deaf ears.

“Do you know where the name for the Andromeda Syndrome originated from?” the doctor calmly said, looking down at you with those pitying yet serene eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. 

You remained silent and tightly gripped the sheets underneath you because, really, what was the point anymore—

“It came from the story of Andromeda and her husband Perseus. She scorns the gods with her hubris about her omega beauty. Poseidon punishes her by sending out a beast. The beast’s fangs poisons Andromeda with a terrible poison, one that makes her scent dull and her go through terrible quick heats in isolation...Sounds familiar?”

You looked up, curious despite the heaviness in your chest. 

“What happened to her?”

The doctor smiled down at you, “Myths are never straightforward. There are different variants. But I will tell you the most popular ending. Perseus slays the divine beast Poseidon ordered to imprison Andromeda. With the beast’s fangs, he cures his beloved Andromeda and they live happily ever after.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the way he glossed over the ending like it was a children’s fable. 

It was a romantic myth. But that was a cold comfort.

You were far from an Andromeda.

Not when you were defective to start with. 

And you sure didn’t have a Perseus. 

In the end, no doctor, no government official, no pharmacist you went to gave you that hope you were desperately searching for. 

During all those nights you sat trembling on the floor with your body spasming as flashes of pain and heat wracked through you. You could only think about one thing that all those looks and hushed whispers by your family and others who knew about you. Those suspicious looks sent by other students on campus because you had no scent...

_Scentless, oblivious, half-omega, freak—_

Why hadn’t you been born a beta? Instead of being born as this incomplete, defective omega—

You were scentless and couldn’t even register pheromones and scents of other dynamics. 

For all intent and purposes, you were practically a beta.

Except for these flash-heats. 

They were a reminder again and again of what you were. 

And beyond the pain and heat, you hated that most of all.

* * *

Hippocrates once said, "For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure, as to restriction, are most suitable.”

And so your extreme condition required extreme methods for treatment. 

Suppressants were a valuable albeit controversial commodity. Introduced in 1925 by the German chemist Jakob Meyer, it was initially shunned. However, the research in wartime during the second world war refined suppressants for widespread military use for the alphas making up the majority of militaries around the world. 

That soon cascaded over into normalizing suppressants for civilian use a decade ago in movements pushing for the legalization of it. 

But there were caps to it. 

Limits that you couldn’t afford.

Similar to heroin, Speed, and all the drugs for those chasing rausch smuggled in from East Berlin, suppressants were a hot commodity among dealers. Especially since they were the stronger military-grade kind not yet legalized for civilian use. 

It was all too easy for you to wander into the nightlife of Berlin with the neon lights of the night clubs shining over the dark streets. You easily found the dealers near the tunnels and abandoned warehouses nearby and bought the suppressants in that brown paper bag with American greenbacks as the chosen currency. 

Of course, you had stopped by the pharmacy to get needles as well. The military-grade suppressants were in injection-form only. You didn’t trust the dealers enough to get any offered needles from them for injecting the suppressants. 

You stopped by the library as well to bring home a book on basic medical care. You needed to identify which area to inject the needle into. While you hadn’t talked with other students on campus about needles, you overheard talk about how air bubbles were best to be cleared up to let injected drugs take up more effect. 

When you went upstairs to your dorm room with your roommate thankfully away partying, you laid the medical textbook open on your bed. Looking over the listed procedures for injection preparations, you proceeded to attach the sterile needle to the syringe before filling it with the vial of suppressants. 

You held the syringe so that the needle pointed upwards before tapping the barrel several times. It pushed the air bubbles to the top. You then slid the plunger enough to push the air out of the syringe. 

You sighed. Now that was out of the way, you flipped to the medical diagrams in the textbook detailing the location of the veins in the arm to which the needle should be pushed into. 

Feeling for a vein in your outstretched arm, you wiped it down with alcohol wipe and flexed your hand experimentally. You had a feeling you were skipping a few steps but you had the basics down…

Shaking your head, you breathed in before sliding the needle into the vein. A bit of red liquid, barely even a drop, appeared in the injection site and you pulled the needle back. You must have blown a vein with the needle. 

You sighed.

Like they said, when you don’t succeed, try and try again—

* * *

With those little vials in brown paper bags you got on a weekly basis, your life became normal once more. 

Your grades improved, your family looked upon you with approval again, and you felt the weight of stares and whispers lessen. You were so close to getting that job as a cryptanalyst in the ZfCh.

You could finally breathe. 

But the suppressants didn’t come cheap. 

Produced in East Berlin, the suppressants were still limited in quantity and highly sought out for, making it easy for the dealers to make the prices skyrocket. 

The money you had from your savings- _combined from your scholarship money, the paid internship at the ZfCh, and your earnings from part-time jobs_ -soon dried up. 

And so you found yourself in that same spot under the neon lights of the nightclub nearby in the dark streets of Berlin. 

“Do you think we’re fools, _hündin_?” The dealer snarled out as he kicked a stone near you, walking out of the shadows of the tunnel with graffiti painting the walls. You resisted the urge to flinch. To them, you were simply another desperate scent-blocker using omega who wanted to get through university without interruptive heats. 

And that was fine.

All you had to do was get them to extend a line of credit for you in buying the suppressants. 

_Like a bar tab_ , you thought weakly to yourself with a silent laugh. 

“We only accept American Greenbacks,” the other dealer said with a sigh, boredom in his eyes. 

“Although,” the first man in front of you stepped forward with a sly smile, “There are other methods of payment, _Fräulein_.” 

He grasped your hair in one harsh movement. You tensed but stayed still. 

The suppressants, you reminded yourself. 

_“Your future looks so bright.”_

Those words you had heard again and again from your professors, family, and other students rang in your head like bells. 

“I only want a line of credit. Just some time-” your words died in your throat when you saw the blur of a fist coming at you. Wheezing from the punch, you keeled over on the ground. The hand on your head forced you onto your knees. 

_Payment_ , you registered numbly. 

It wasn’t uncommon. 

Yet you remained frozen on your knees, hearing the sound of a belt unbuckling. 

This wasn’t happening. 

But the way he jerked your head forward by the hair told you that oh this was happening. 

You could hear a distant part of you screaming at you to stop this, to fight.

But you couldn’t—

“Leave the girl alone,” a feminine voice suddenly asserted as the sound of heels clicking on the concrete came closer. The dealer merely tightened his grip on your hair. 

“What do you want this time?” he snapped annoyedly. Although, his voice was less aggressive with a bit of wariness. 

“The girl,” the woman said, “He wants her.” 

As if jolted by something, the dealer abruptly released his grip on you. Stunned, you stared up at him for a moment before scrambling to your feet. The dealer looked at you with...fear?

You backed away only to turn and find the owner of that voice. 

Your unexpected rescuer. 

There was little doubt in your mind she was a female alpha, not when you saw the customary tattoo of the greek letter alpha on her neck. 

“What do you want?” you asked warily, remembering her explanation to the drug dealer. 

‘He wants her’...what did that mean? 

“There is someone who would like to meet you, mała omega,” she gazed down at you, her accent rather thick. It was definitely eastern European...Polish? 

And those words... 

_Little omega._

You learned Polish along with a handful of other languages at elective language courses in the university. 

How did she know that you were an omega?

You were scentless after all. 

“Follow me,” the Polish alpha said. 

“Do I have a choice?” you asked quietly. 

The woman turned back to face you briefly. “No.” You lowered your gaze to the ground. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t instinctively flinch when she walked towards you. She rather gently laid a hand on your shoulder. You breathed out a sigh. It was only then that you realized you had been trembling. 

“Calm,” she said in her thickly accented voice, “He just wants to talk.”

 _Talk_ , you thought with a slight laugh. 

But there was fear in that dealer’s eyes. 

What kind of talk did he want to have? 

Still, you obediently followed the Polish alpha through the dark streets of Berlin before you found yourself following her into the crimson neon light of a nightclub nearby. The smell of drugs and alcohol greeted you in its familiar haze. In contrast, the music pounded your ears, kindly reminding your aching academic brain nightlife had never been your thing. 

You stuck close to your guide as you followed her through the mass of dancers and partygoers moving in the crimson neon light. She led you into the partitioned off VIP section of the nightclub, a much quieter and private setting. Still, the tension building in your chest didn’t let up. 

Meeting another in such a private setting didn’t always mean good things. 

Suddenly, the woman stopped right in front of the red door before stepping aside, a silent command in her eyes. 

_Walk through the door._

You forced a professional smile. This was just another meeting, just like the ones you had with the ZfCh cipher officers for the internship interview. Yet you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking into a wolf’s den. 

“If only I had a red hood,” you jested lightly. 

Her lips quirked up a bit in a slight smile.

“ _Powodzenia_.” 

You smiled back, earnestly this time. 

And then you stepped through that red door. 

“ _Privyet_ , little omega.” 

You froze in your tracks. 

His voice was deep and accented. 

_Russian._

You instinctively took a step back with your heart stuttering in your chest. If your assumptions were correct, you could be implicated for treason or espionage just by meeting him here. 

You glanced back towards that red door...no, you couldn’t open it and go back...not now. 

You could only listen to what the Russian said. 

“ _Hallo_ ,” you greeted quietly in turn. 

“Come and sit,” he invited. You walked over to the booth area with the crimson seats before sitting down, watching your hands fold on your lap. Footsteps entered the room through the side obscured by curtains off to your left. 

You glanced up at him from across the booth, noting his appearance in case of interrogation by the BND. He was dressed in a three-piece suit with a dark overcoat and short blonde hair combed back to some extent, completing the look of the typical businessman visiting Berlin. 

No scars or any other identifying features. 

He gazed at you rather amusedly with a knowing look in his grayish blue eyes. “I’ve heard things about you. You’re a prodigy in cryptanalysis at the Freie Universität Berlin. Your work in linear cryptanalysis and block ciphers has raised attention at the ZfCh.”

You tensely nodded. 

Those were all things common knowledge on campus…

“Your future looks so bright, doesn’t it?”

You flinched, glancing away.

“Yet here you are trying to buy illegal drugs from dealers.” 

“I have my reasons,” you say hurriedly.

“ _Da_ , I know about your condition. The Andromeda Syndrome.” He looked at you with an almost wolfish interest in his eyes. But there really was no reason for him to take interest in you. The man hardly looked like the medical doctors that took a clinical interest in you and your condition during all those visits to various hospitals and universities over the summers.

“You know omegas are submissive to alphas. Your kind is physically weaker, softer,” he began conversationally before leaning forward, “But here is a dirty little secret that people do not talk about. Alphas are oh so weak to Omegas. Omegas are just not registered as a threat to alphas on an instinctual level. And not only that, alphas are ingrained to protect omegas. It’s almost laughable. And it’s all a matter of instinct, biology ingrained in all of us.

The Americans found out during Vietnam when their alpha soldiers encountered omegas with AKs and bombs strapped to them. The damage done tactically was nearly as much as the psychological devastation. It didn’t make the press. Omegas are sacred, after all,” He explained with a twisted smile like that last part was a funny joke to him.

“Training has been done to combat that,” you said rather curiously. Such a thing wasn’t sensitive information by any means. Certain officials at the ZfCh underwent such training in case of omega agents infiltrating the department for sensitive information relating to the cryptologic of the machines. 

“Indeed,” the Russian nodded before staring at you again, this time with a wolfish smile, “And that’s where you come in, little omega.”

“Me?”

“You are scentless and lack the ability to scent. If I hadn’t looked at your old medical files, I would have passed you off as a beta.” 

You nodded. That didn’t surprise you. After all, your father had used his old connections in the government to pull several strings in making your designation officially be “beta”. It was an embarrassment to be the kind of omega you were: a partial defective one.

“Training done to combat the instinctual bias alphas and even betas to a lesser extent have towards omegas requires awareness. How can an alpha combat the instinctual bias if they don’t even know they are interacting with an omega?”

Your eyes widened. He couldn’t be thinking about-

“That wouldn’t work,” you said hurriedly, “I...I, uh, don’t affect alphas. I don’t have the scent and pheromones for that,” You added with a tinge of embarrassment. You rarely ever talked about this with others before.

“Oh, but you do affect alphas. If you ran out of this room right now, I’d find it hard to kill you myself. I’d have to order one of my men to do it,” he said before adding as an afterthought, “Probably a beta. One of my alpha subordinates has already taken a liking to you. Martha always did have a soft spot for lost little omegas.”

“I…I think you must be mistaken,” you said hesitantly, not wanting to make the alpha before you seem wronged in any way. But he must be mistaken…you didn’t have that kind of affect…

The Russian alpha stared at you before smiling amusedly, “How oblivious and cute of you to think that.” You blinked. Did he just say-

Before you could even process his words, he spoke up again, “In the 1950s, our scientists were curious about the psychology behind the recognition of dynamics. They decided to conduct blind tests with alphas, omegas, and betas. The main subject would be seated while blinded and scent-deprived right next to the subjects of varying dynamics. One at a time those subjects were subjected to severe electroshocks. During a test with an alpha main subject, the alpha reacted most strongly to the omega’s pain. He couldn’t smell the pheromones and scent of the omega nor could he register the cries because of the omega being gagged. Yet he knew.”

You had never heard of this before. Although then again Soviet experiments dating back to even the 1950s were mostly classified.

“How?”

He shrugged, “It is all theoretical at this point. Some say it’s spiritual, something God ingrained in us all," he laughed. That must be a fun little joke for the Soviet. He continued, "Others say it’s a chemical in our brains that we have yet to fully identify.”

His eyes shifted over to gaze at you once more with that keen interest, “You are a rare little case. The medical community calls you Andromeda for the sake of anonymity and poetic naming. Did you know that?”

You shook your head before sighing. Enough questions and games, you needed to know, “What do you want?”

“You.”

Oh.

Well, that was…blunt.

“I want you as an agent of mine,” he added with a smile as if noticing your rather stunned state, “The ZfCh are already eyeing you for big things. You are an interesting way into it all.”

 _Soviet_ , you realized. The stranger before you must be Soviet Intelligence, most likely KGB. 

“I…I can’t,” you said, shaking your head, “This is treason.”

For all intents and purposes, you should march to the police station and report him…if you could even make it there alive.

You stood up, already thinking up words to get out of this situation alive without joining him-

“I don’t need you,” he said, amusement still in his words, “But I want you.” Something hungry crossed his eyes, changing his voice though he continued to use the same tone. “And I think you need me. Those suppressants aren’t going to pay for themselves.”

You froze.

The suppressants.

Your scalp still felt sore from the fistfuls of hair grabbed by the dealer. Even through the distant pounding music of the nightclub, you still heard the jangling sound of a belt unbuckling-

“I can borrow money,” you replied quickly. It came out weaker than you intended.

“Sure,” he replied easily, “I’ve heard the night industry on the streets is competitive. You should choose your establishment right.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your skin in half-moon crescent marks.

“ _Verdammte_ ,” you cursed under your breath.

No matter how much money you borrowed, you couldn’t sustain the skyrocketing prices of illegal military-grade suppressants. You’d land yourself in debt to the point of no return.

“How much?” you quietly mustered out, closing your eyes.

“The suppressants will be paid in full. You’ll never be left wanting for them again.”

“…military-grade?” you said incredulously. Those cost a fortune. There was no way he’d invest that much in some cryptanalysis student who hadn’t even graduated yet-

“Only the best for you, comrade.”

You nearly flinched at the word “comrade”. You never were the most political of students on campus, preferring to stick to the black and white world of mathematics and statistics that eventually gave way to ciphers and keys. But the monikers and jeers the students gave to some of the Soviets attending the university such as “Ivan” and “comrade” stuck with you.

With that thought in mind, you closed your eyes.

“I…I accept your offer, sir.”

“Formalities are beyond us. We are comrades now.” He smiled at you, “Vadim Rudnik.” He introduced himself finally.

You only nodded. There was no point in introducing yourself to him, not when he already read your files.

And so, at the age of 19, you sold yourself to Vadim Rudnik.

Ultimately, in the grand scheme of things-

-your loyalty came cheap.

* * *

Rudnik kept his word.

Once a week, you’d go to the assigned location. A dead drop, Rudnik had explained one time before adding, “Consider it practice.” 

_A little spy game_ , you thought. Although, this dangerous little game would land in prison for treason at best or execution at worst. 

But there was no going back.

You occasionally saw notes at the dead drop from him, detailing random locations and times to meet him at. 

And so you found yourself cautiously walking into the set meeting place, an abandoned warehouse in an old industrial park in Berlin. Looking around, you immediately figured what he had planned.

Training mats were placed on the hard concrete of the floor. 

“I thought I was going to just be an informant?” you asked hesitantly. It had been a while since you met him all those weeks ago in that nightclub on that fateful night. You grew used to the routine of the dead-drops but not of his presence. 

When he walked forward, you tensed. 

“You’ll need to be capable of anything, comrade.” Rudnik said patiently, “That includes killing a man,” he added bluntly. 

“I-” You clenched your fists nervously. Could you do that?

...Kill a man?

And deep down you knew.

You would kill if ordered.

After all, you already sold yourself to Vadim Rudnik. When it came to this little spy game, you had to whatever he asked lest you face the consequences.

And so you went to the randomly assigned locations week after week. 

Each time, you found yourself facing one of his subordinates while Rudnik watched idly from the sidelines with a cigarette in hand. Eventually, the bruises and cuts became a routine to endure and hide from the eyes of your roommate and students in the university dormitory. 

As the months progressed, you became the one throwing down his subordinates onto the mats and pinning them there. You couldn’t help but smile victoriously one time as you pinned down the bigger beta opponent with an arm twisted behind his back. Your knee pressed against his back. 

“Aren’t you going to join in?” you asked once, driven by the adrenaline high coursing through you. Rudnik tilted his head, taking a drag of his cigarette before shaking his head. 

“There is a reason why I’ve only put you against betas, зая.” 

You only stared confusedly at the Soviet. You never could understand what that man was thinking in that head of his…

Sighing, you stood up, releasing your hold on the beta underneath you. 

You walked towards the edge of the mat to get your coat only to find yourself falling-

You dazedly blinked away the momentary stars filling your vision. The rough surface of the concrete floor scraped against your forehead as you pushed yourself off the ground. 

“ _Verdammte!_ ”

Rudnik laughed amusedly, leaning against the wall in front of you. You merely glanced up at him annoyedly before sighing once more.

“When are you going to tell me about the Soviet ciphers?” you said curiously, getting to your feet. Truthfully, knowing such things could be one of the perks of working as a double-agent for him. Soviet and Stasi ciphers were always an enigma even among the academics and professors at the university. 

“After you prove your worth.” Rudnik answered bluntly before taking yet another drag of his cigarette. In other words, you’d get that level of sensitive intel when you completed your first major operation. 

If what Rudnik told you about the _Zentralstelle für das Chiffrierwesen_ scouting you for a classified project in the future...then that would be soon considering your impending graduation. 

“How much do you know about etiquette?” he asked suddenly as you pulled your coat over yourself. 

“Hopefully the basics,” you answered lightly, slightly confused.

“Etiquette involving dynamics,” he elaborated with a pointed look. 

You smiled sheepishly, “Somewhat…? I didn’t attend dynamics classes.” Your family didn’t want you to attend the dynamics classes after you were diagnosed with the Andromeda Syndrome. It was already bad enough that you were scentless and had hyposmia. 

Rudnik sighed, “You’ll pass off as a beta easily,” he muttered under his breath. “Lower your eyes, expose your neck-” 

You tilted your head at that.

Rudnik smiled, “Yes, just like that.” 

You stared at him confusedly. That was considered a submissive gesture? 

“Anything else?”

He shrugged, “It would be best to keep you authentic. You’ll learn as you go. You’ve done well to this point,” he casually praised. You glanced away from him, an odd sort of satisfaction warming your chest. 

Just an offhand remark, you reminded yourself. 

Rudnik flicked away the ash on his cigarette before snuffing it out on the ground.

“Care for a smoke, comrade?” he offered with his hand gripping the cigarette container. 

You blinked.

“I-I,uh, haven’t smoked before,” you said rather sheepishly. It was common among the students on campus but you never got into that. Although, you had breathed in plenty of second-hand smoke from your roommate’s smoking habit. 

“You should start.”

Rudnik said it as a casual remark. But even then, you heard the order behind the “suggestion”. 

Wordlessly, you took the offered cigarette and put it in between your lips. 

Just as you were about to ask for a light, Rudnik flicked open a lighter with a gloved hand and put the flame under the cigarette, making the end burn in an ember. 

You took a drag from the cigarette, then pulled it away from your mouth as you choked. 

“We’ll have to work on that.” he said, smirking while you coughed and looked up at him with teary eyes. 

“I have decided on a codename for you,” Rudnik took the cigarette from your hands.

“And what is that?” you mustered out between coughs into your sleeve.

“I considered Andromeda. But that is too obvious...and I’d rather you not get his attention. He takes too much of a poetic interest in mythology.” You could have sworn Rudnik looked annoyed for a moment there. “You came to me at the right moment and time. It’s only fair that your codename reflects that.”

“So? What’d you pick?”

“Kairos.” 

* * *

True to Rudnik’s words, the ZfCh scouted you out the moment you graduated. Your position as a cryptanalyst in their cipher department was not privy to any traffic involving dramatic state secrets. However, Rudnik was convinced there was more to their story.. They’re training you for something, he had said with a look of keen interest. 

A year and a half had passed. 

You had gained quite the reputation in the department with your enthusiastic decryption of East German encrypted traffic. While Rudnik had only answered your curious questions on Stasi ciphers with several offhand remarks, he left little clues here and there like breadcrumbs.

And it was enough for you to show off just a little, gaining enough attention to stand out but not too much. 

And then finally it happened.

The ZfCh brought you across the Rubicon. 

They called it Operation Thesaurus. None of the ZfCh superiors told you much. In fact, they only brought the intel with no explanation to you and your fellow cipher officers. However, everyone knew from which machines the intel came from. 

H-460s.

Crypto AG machines.

Your hands had trembled ever so slightly on the keyboard of the computer. This...this turned everything on its head. Crypto AG was the preferred supplier to 80% of the world market for cipher equipment. 

And the Western bloc had a backdoor to it all. 

In the end, you wondered if the operation only partially involved the ZfCh. After all, decrypting the intercepted traffic was a load of work. The ZfCh’s budget was far too small to afford state of the art supercomputers to slug through the work quickly. However, the programming technique _Hypothesenverfolgung_ worked effectively in breaking the ciphers without supercomputers. 

All-nighters in crypto-sleuthing was something you took pleasure in. 

With your window into Operation Thesaurus came the message in a live drop at a café by one of Rudnik’s subordinates.

And so began the weekly dead drops. 

* * *

> **_Es war Sonntagnachmittag, ich wollt' ins Kino geh'n,_ **
> 
> **_Da hab ich an der Eingangstür dich einsam stehen seh'n-_ **

You hummed to yourself, the cheery tunes of Die Windows’ _How Do You Do_ as the song played through the headset of your Walkman. Your umbrella shook a bit from the wind and rain while you walked on the wet concrete sidewalk. 

> **_-Ich stellte mich halt neben dich, du hast mir's angetan,_ **
> 
> **_Da sah ich, daß du traurig bist und sprach dich einfach an._ **

The weight of that other mixtape in your purse felt all too heavy. You’ve done this a hundred times already. Yet even then, your heart pounded against your ribs until it might break them.

The paranoia. 

Sighing, you tried to focus on the song. 

Act normal.

“ _How do you do, aha, bleib nicht allein_ -” you sang quietly under your breath only for the words to abruptly die in your throat as a sharp pain struck your face. 

You winced, blinking away the rain droplets now falling onto your face. You looked up only to see the street sign looming over you. 

_Not again_ , you groaned to yourself as you paused the song. 

This was the third time you ran into a street sign this week. 

You picked yourself off of the sidewalk and glanced at the café sign in front of you. 

There was a special for Der Teufel. 

The dead drop was on. 

Calmly walking into the shop, you quietly walked to the counter. The barista’s tired eyes glanced at you. She nodded knowingly, having already started preparing your usual drink.

You chose a seat at the corner of the café, next to a small window overlooking the alley street. You once again resumed the song while lowering the volume to barely a whisper.

> **_Komm geh mit mir, ich schenke dir nananana_ **
> 
> **_Mein Herz dafür und was du willst nananana-_ **

You leaned your head against the wall. You sleepily listened to the faint sounds of rain droplets hitting the window in the background while the song played.You had stayed up all night in order to get the intel sorted and prepared for the dead drop. 

> **_Du bist bei mir nie mehr allein nananana_ **
> 
> **_Du wirst immer glücklich sein-_ **

“Your order-” 

Pulling down your headset, you blinked away the sleepiness in your eyes. You looked up at the barista with the Der Teufel drink in hand. Taking the offered drink, you sat there by the window and enjoyed the drink. Idly, you glanced at the clock on the wall. 

It was time. 

Leaving your bag at the table by the window, you walked to the ladies room. Carefully, looking at the brick wall of the bathroom, you ran your fingers along the rough brick surface, feeling for any abnormalities.

And then you felt a brick slightly raised from the others.

 _Just like in the message_ , you thought. 

You pulled out the brick and found the small, metallic tubular container. Unscrewing it, you found the small weekly vial of suppressants there just like usual. You brought out your own tubular container from the pocket of your coat, carefully putting the vial in the cushioned interior. You couldn’t afford it breaking. You only had one vial per week. 

You took the mixtape out from the pockets of your coat. The intel was on the microfilm inside the cassette tape. It fit perfectly in the snug gap between the brick and the back of the wall. 

You sighed, finally putting the brick back in its place. 

The dead drop was done. 

Having already finished your drink, you exited out the back of the cafe into the alleyway. You fished out a cigarette from the pack you had in your pocket. Just like usual, you would stay out here for five minutes, flicking the ash off your cigarette three times before leaving. 

That was your own little signpost for this dead drop. 

The neon lights of the nearby nightclub reflected off the puddles in the alley. You watched idly as several omegas in fur coats and heels followed a businessman to the nearby residence for such affairs. 

You took a drag of the cigarette. 

You’ve gotten used to it now-

...that smoke filling your lungs. 

* * *

With the weekly dead drops came the increasing risks. After all, leaking state secrets and intel on Operation Thesaurus on a weekly basis wasn’t exactly subtle. Especially when you had a feeling that Rudnik and whoever he was associated with acted on that intel. 

And so, one day, when you and all those on the ZfCh decryption taskforce for Operation Thesaurus were lined up, you weren’t surprised to see the BND clandestine officer addressing the team. Like a prisoner awaiting their execution, you stood patiently among your co-workers. The man easily loomed over you and your co-workers. You heard one of them murmur “alpha” amongst themselves. You risked a curious glance up at him as he walked by you. Catching a glimpse of sharp black eyes staring down at you, you immediately lowered your eyes once again. 

“There is a mole amongst you,” the alpha BND officer said assertively. His words rang as loud as gunshots in the room. He didn’t have the loudest voice like your superior who always yelled at the task force to get the deadlines done by pulling all-nighters. But his sheer presence made up for that. 

Murmurs erupted amongst your co-workers with suspicious glances cast on each other. From their perspective, the mole could be anyone. It wasn’t the first time the Stasi had infiltrated West German intelligence with a planted mole. 

“We have located the mole to this specific station in this task force.” You looked at Steuben, your co-worker who shared the same station as you on the task force. 

Steuben’s eyes narrowed at you. 

You merely stared back at him with the same curious suspicion in the eyes of your peers. 

“We will handle this matter privately.” 

One by one, each station pair was called into the office down the hallway with the blinds down and door shut. The walls were thin in the headquarters of the ZfCh but their voices were always hushed and quiet. 

You patiently waited your turn alongside an anxious Steuben. Although, you couldn’t help but tap the pencil in your hand against the wooden surface of your desk. You ignored the irritated scowl Steuben sent you. 

The beta cryptanalyst always did love to pawn off his overtime work to you and still get the credit. He graduated at the Philipps-Universität Marburg while you attended the Freie Universität Berlin. 

And so when the time came for your station to be called up to that office down the hallway, you walked side by side with Steuben. He glanced at you repeatedly with a calculating yet nervous look in his eyes.

His career and life was on the line. 

And all he had to do was pin the blame on you. 

You knew he thought this during all those moments of waiting. 

But you had also leaked equally the amount of intel he was responsible for. Both overtime work…and other work you were not responsible for but had managed to get from his workspace. 

It gave you enough room to pin the blame on him. 

It was your word against his.

You closed your eyes, breathing for a second as you stood in front of the door. It was time to see if Rudnik was right all along about that little bias alphas could have towards you and your kind. 

_“Do you know how to seduce an alpha?”_ Rudnik once told you. You nearly blanched at that before shaking your head. He had chuckled amusedly before explaining that seduction wasn’t always sensual. It was about charisma, appeal to one’s instincts. 

You opened the door. 

_“Be submissive.”_

You glanced at the large figure of the BND clandestine officer sitting at the desk. You murmured a greeting with your gaze lowered. Steuben quickly followed, giving a stiff and firm greeting to the alpha. 

_“Don’t be afraid to show fear.”_

You nervously bit your lip as you settled into the chair in front of the alpha clandestine officer. Your lowered eyes settled on the brass plate displaying the name of your superior.

The one who always yelled at you and the task force.

_“It makes you vulnerable.”_

The agent suddenly spoke up in that same dangerously calm voice, “We’ve called you here today to discuss the leaking of intel from your station.” 

You nodded silently. Steuben leaned forward in his chair next to you. 

“Sir, she must be the mole-“

The BND officer lifted his hand, cutting off Steuben from speaking more. He glanced at you before speaking once more, this time towards you, “You’ve been doing most of the workload for the station, yes?”

You nodded before quietly adding, “I do the initial decryption for most of the work including overtime. Steuben usually does the final process of looking over all of the work and sorting it for presentation.” 

It wasn’t the traditional nor conventional distribution of workload for a station to have. 

Indeed, it was quite unbalanced. 

And perhaps, that was what you needed in that moment.

“Why is that, Steuben?” he inquired. 

You tilted your head to glance over at Steuben next to you, exposing your neck to the BND clandestine operative. Your co-worker only glared at you as he leaned forward with a scowl.

“I know what you’re trying to do. It will not work-“ 

You flinched. 

You wished you could say it was deliberate. But the look in his eyes was all too similar to the one in that dealer’s eyes all those years ago…

_“Make it seem that you are weak and lost.”_

“That’s enough. You didn’t answer the question.” The interrogator scowled, this time a bit more pointedly. He glanced at you with an unknown look in his eyes before focusing back on Steuben. 

“She worked as an intern. She is better suited for work like that.”

“You go out of the building often during our shifts,” you added quietly. 

Steuben laughed, “I always knew you were this manipulative little-“ he cut himself off upon seeing the glare by the interrogator, “Don’t be fooled by her.” Steuben merely said, shaking his head. 

_“They will want to protect you.”_

“Where do you go during these outings of yours?”

You resisted the urge to blink in surprise.

The BND officer really was focusing on Steuben mostly.

Was Rudnik right all along?

No, you thought while mentally shaking your head free of that hopeful thought. That couldn’t possibly be it. 

Your co-worker coughed lightly. You glanced at him. He always smelled like beer and nicotine when he walked back inside to your station. Beneath those shades concealing his eyes, you could have sworn he seemed a bit high at times. 

Nothing he would want to explain to an official from the BND.

Although, such a thing wasn’t uncommon among the employees at the ZfCh. Stress relief came in many different shapes and forms. 

“Smoke breaks. I am only gone for ten minutes at a time,” Steuben explained breezily. 

“That’s not what your co-workers said. Two hours is a little too long for a smoke break.” The interrogator stated. 

“Operatives have already confiscated illicit substances in your apartment. The Stasi often work through drug dealers here,” He added calmly before Steuben could even say any more excuses.

You vaguely wondered if Rudnik was affiliated with the Stasi considering the circumstances of your meeting with him. 

_Steuben's face is turning red_ , you noted. 

“You-You know, don’t you?!” he nearly snarled out at you as he stood up abruptly from his chair, shoving it back, “Tell him!” he demanded, taking a step towards you.

_“Be that fearful little omega I found that night.”_

You clenched your fists around the thick material of your coat but remained in your seat. When you saw his arm reach for you, you flinched. 

You couldn’t fight back just like that time. Otherwise, everything would be ruined. 

You had such a bright future, don’t you-

And then you heard a muffled cry of pain. 

The BND interrogator had Steuben pressed against the desk with his arm twisted behind his back. 

“That’s enough,” he said calmly, though you heard another wail from your co-worker as he twisted the arm just a bit more. He looked over you wordlessly before nodding to himself, “I’ll take it from here. You’re dismissed.” 

You hesitantly stood up from your seat before nodding. You quietly left the room-

_“They’ll fall for it each and every time, зая.”_

-but not before hearing the curses spilling out of Steuben. 

“ _Du verdammte Lügenhure_ -“

You didn’t stop in your footsteps as you walked back to your station. 

You supposed that you were worse than a whore. At least they didn’t sell their loyalty, only their bodies for a night. You sold yourself and your country out for that little vial of suppressants still in your pocket.

Your loyalty was cheap. 

And so were you. 

* * *

You never did hear from Steuben again. 

The mole hunt concluded with little drama and you couldn’t help but wonder if Rudnik intervened to clean things up. 

Regardless, months later, you found yourself strapped down to a chair while staring up at the bright glaring white light. 

You had been compromised. 

How, you didn’t know. 

The last thing you did know was that you were walking into your apartment after your shift at the ZfCh was over. And then your vision went black. 

Your captors were British with their funny accents, MI6 most likely. Even through the drugs and the pain, you laughed at their accents. It was funny how they pronounced some words. You were rather used to the American dialect of English. 

“Why the bloody hell is she laughing, Park?” 

“You’d be surprised what LSD does to a person’s sense of humor, Jameson.” 

“Why don’t you do something about that? I swear Park, you’re too soft on this one-“ 

_Ah yes, the funny drugs_ , you thought with a light laugh. The drugs were rather annoying. It made you feel all funny inside.

At least, you were used to the pain. Really, whatever they inflicted wasn’t worse than anything you hadn’t felt before. Broken bones, a hot knife slicing through your skin like butter time after time, a garotte wire across the neck, water flooding your mouth until you couldn’t breathe…

All those hellish months without suppressants week after week-

Nothing they did could compare to that. 

After all, the pain they inflicted was temporary. 

Yours never ended. 

* * *

“Park” eventually left. 

And then came her replacement.

Hearing whispers of “moving the asset”, you figured through the haze of drugs and pain that the asset was you. 

An opportunity, you slowly registered. And it came to you on a silver platter.

You heard footsteps suddenly entering the room before a long, thin metallic object pressed into your hands. 

“Rudnik sends his regards, Kairos.” you heard the voice murmur. 

The replacement. You recognized his voice.

You blinked.

Rudnik hadn’t abandoned you, after all. 

Feeling a button on the object, it clicked with a part suddenly retracting. You hid the object in your hands. It wasn’t strange since you usually kept them folded and clenched together. 

And so you waited and waited for the right time.

For kairos. 

* * *

They pulled a dark hood over your head before shoving you into the backseat of a car. You could vaguely make out the outline of the two agents’ figures in the car. Your hands tightened minutely in their hidden hold on the weapon. A pen, you had recognized at one point. 

You counted silently to yourself. You couldn’t let them bring you to the final destination. 

They’d kill you there. 

You lunged forward. The pen in your hand slammed into the agent's neck, puncturing the jugular. In a few heartbeats, you saw the agent convulse with foam dripping out of his mouth.

Neurotoxin. 

When the driver reached back with his gun, you grabbed his wrist with your cuffed hands, wrestling the gun from him. You forced his hand to aim the gun up in the air, firing several shots into the roof of the car. 

Your elbow snapped into him a few times until you felt his grip on the gun loosen. You grabbed it only for the car to swerve, making the gun go flying from your hands. You picked up the pen nearby and jabbed it into his neck. 

And then you saw it. 

_The truck._

“ _Scheiße!_ “ you cursed. You threw yourself to the backseat, gripping the seatbelt straps tightly. 

The driver swerved the car to avoid the truck. You saw the concrete barricade coming closer and closer before everything went black-

You blinked away the stars filling your vision with a groan. The agent and driver’s bodies laid scattered and bloody in the interior of the now flipped over car. 

And then you heard the footsteps.

Immediately, you reached for the gun laying nearby. You fired a warning shot through the back window. You needed enough time to get to your feet and away-

“Kairos,” a familiar, accented voice said. 

_Not looking so amused now_ , you thought distantly before sighing. 

“Give me a warning next time,” you bit back your words asking for the suppressants immediately. You already went three weeks without them. It was a miracle you hadn’t slipped into a flash-heat already. 

The car door opened next to you. A large gloved hand reached inside, grasping under your shoulder. You instinctively winced from the pressure put on your wounds underneath your coat. 

You let Rudnik help you out of the car before you go to your feet, limping a few feet away. 

You blinked when your world suddenly tilted sideways. You looked up in surprise at Rudnik.

He was carrying you. 

You guessed it was faster for you to be carried around. 

“You know if you had told me the line ‘I’m going to make you a star’ all those years ago,” you began casually as you leaned your head against his shoulder. You felt warm for once after all. Finally, the end to the pain was here, “I would have walked right out that red door.” 

Rudnik laughed.

* * *

“An associate of mine wishes to meet you,” Rudnik said after he took a drag from his cigarette, sighing out the smoke. You nodded and idly watched it curl into the wintry night air. Winters in Warsaw were rather warm compared to the cooler ones in Berlin. 

It was...nice. 

Under normal circumstances, you would have considered it your first vacation out of the country. But this was under anything but ordinary circumstances. Your identity was compromised. Since you had crossed the Rubicon-

There was no going back.

Everything in your life. Your career, your family and friends-

They were all gone to you. 

But you had accepted that years ago on that fateful night. 

“Do they know about my...condition?” you asked quietly, breaking the silence after several passing moments.

“No, I’d rather keep this our little secret,” Rudnik replied immediately, “...He would take interest in you if he did. You do not want his attention.” 

You shifted nervously as you leaned against the wall. This was the first time you were going to meet an associate of his, not a subordinate. From his words, you just needed to not stand out and avoid gaining his attention.

 _Easy_. 

“Besides, I do not want him stealing you away,” he jested. You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the joke. 

Only a few minutes later did Rudnik’s eyes follow the passing grey car down the street before he nodded. You glanced at him before sighing. 

It was time.

You stared at the back of his olive green Soviet military coat as you followed him through the flickering neon-lit streets of Warsaw. The city had a love affair with neon considering the lights of all different colors illuminating shops, nightclubs, and restaurants throughout the city. 

After several minutes of walking through winding streets and alleys, Rudnik stopped in a dark alleyway. You glanced around with a foreboding yet accepting feeling sinking in your chest.

 _No witnesses_ , you thought.

You had no use to him anymore considering your cover was blown…

“I won’t kill you,” he said, his back to you as he stared into the shadows of the alleyway. 

Suddenly, your vision turned black with a dark hood pulled over your head. Gloved hands shoved you into what you could vaguely make out through the hood as a car. 

And then you heard Rudnik’s next words. 

“But he might.”

* * *

Forcefully wearing a hood while sitting in a car was something you were all too familiar with. And so you didn’t quite panic, leaning your head against the leather seat. You felt the car make turn after turn down the streets of Warsaw. 

You didn’t bother noting the turns however. 

If things went south, there would be no escaping for you.

Rudnik was not a man to be trifled with. From the sound of it, his associate would be far worse if not the same. 

The car suddenly slowed to a stop. You heard the back door open before large gloved hands pulled you out of the car. You stepped out onto the asphalt and let them guide you to wherever they were taking you. 

You registered the echo of footsteps. You tilted your head slightly. It must be someplace remote and abandoned...an abandoned warehouse perhaps. It was the usual place of choice for meetings of this nature. 

“ _Отпустить ее_ ,” a deep accented voice suddenly asserted. _Russian_ , you noted with little surprise. Perhaps, this associate of Rudnik’s was KGB...

“ _Так точно!_ ” 

Immediately, the hands released you and the hood lifted from your head. You found yourself blinking, your eyes getting adjusted to the darkness. 

“ _Privyet_ , comrade.” 

You stared at the man seated in front of you. 

_He must be Rudnik’s associate_ , you thought immediately.

“... _Guten tag_ ,” you greeted quietly in turn. 

The Russian was an older man with salt and pepper hair and eyes that watched you keenly. Similar to your handler, he wore a dark olive green Soviet military coat. _A Soviet intelligence officer_ , you guessed. 

When he gestured for you to take a seat at the chair opposite to him, you nodded quietly and took a seat. You glanced down at the slight indent on the arm of the metal chair. You weren’t sure what dynamic he was. 

You never won any drinking games guessing dynamics before.

But if you had to guess….

 _Alpha_. 

Perhaps, it was the way his presence seemed to command respect and obedience among the operatives in military tactical gear around you with that interesting branching symbol on a patch. Although, that could just be the military command structure of the KGB…

“My apologies for the rough treatment,” the older Soviet said in his deep accented voice, “Precautions had to be taken after a breach in our ciphers.” 

You risked a curious glance up at the man. A breach in the ciphers?

Did that have anything to do with the compromising of your cover…

“We heard about your unfortunate compromising by the British,” he said easily. You tensed. Was he going to kill you?

As if noticing your tension, he smiled at you and said, “Relax, comrade. I am here to offer you a job, not an execution.” 

You blinked.

A job…?

“We are in need of a new cryptologist,” The Soviet looked at you with interest. It was different from the wolfish interest in Rudnik’s eyes all those years ago…

His interest felt welcoming. 

“A trustworthy one,” he emphasized. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” you said, glancing down at that same imperfection on the arm of the steel chair, “I am not suited for the job.” 

_Your loyalty was cheap, after all._

He leaned forward slightly with a rather amused look in his eyes, “Yet you held out against the MI6’s interrogation. They did not break you. Does that not show you are worthy of our trust?”

You finally glanced up at the man.

You saw...respect in his eyes.

He genuinely believed that about you. 

You blinked. 

Even though your loyalty was cheap-

_-For some reason, you wanted to give it to the man in front of you._

_It was odd_ , you thought distantly. Something inside you wanted to listen to the man and his words so badly. The surrealness of the moment washed over you. Surrounded by paramilitary operatives in tactical gear and confronted with a job offer, you took a breath before finally breathing out.

You calmly looked at the Soviet.

“Your trust in me will not go unwarranted, sir.” 

He smiled.

“Welcome to the collective, comrade.” he said with a pleased look in his eyes, “It is about time I introduce myself, Kairos.” he said your codename casually before you could even register that, “You may call me-”

“Perseus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout-out to Jak_the_ATAT for beta-reading this 10K chapter! There was definitely a lot in this chapter and I really appreciate them taking the time to go through it all and leave such awesome feedback and advice. 
> 
> Now...to start yeah I ended up writing a 10K prologue of an ABO fic, something I never thought I would write out. I find ABO AUs to be interesting in a sense and I do like certain stuff in them such as the social interactions that occur in this kind of AU. And I got a plot bunny idea for a Bell/Multi ABO AU idea so I wrote this out. In regards to the pairings for this fic, it's going to mainly be Perseus/Bell, Belikov/Bell, Stitch/Bell, and Rudnik/Bell. I'm still thinking of adding on more Bell pairings but I'll have to think more about it. 
> 
> Well, thanks for reading this really long prologue! I'm looking forward to writing more chapters for this AU.


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